


Entre Nous (between us)

by Greenlikethesky



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlikethesky/pseuds/Greenlikethesky
Summary: Alain and Ayrton from 1988 to 1989; hate and love and everything in between.





	1. Part 1: 1988

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to Livejournal in 2010(!)
> 
> I have included the race-by-race points totals, just to make it a bit easier on anyone who isn’t familiar with these seasons. The points awarded were fairly different back then; only the top six got points, which were 9 points for a win, 6 for second, 4 for third, and 3, 2 and 1 for fourth, fifth and sixth. Just to confuse everyone even more, a driver could only count his 11 best results towards the championship. The points in brackets are the actual points a driver had; the points outside the brackets are the ones that counted. Confused yet? (I am!)

**March**

**Winter Testing – Imola**

**Senna 0, Prost 0**

 

 “You know, here at McLaren, we have a rule.” 

 

Alain can hear his mechanics laughing quietly behind him, knowing this old initiation ritual well. His new teammate looks at him questioningly.

 

“About what happens after a race, you know; whoever wins out of us gets to... come first.”

 

The mechanics laugh loudly and Ayrton gets the joke too. The Brazilian blushes and gives Alain a strange, almost angry look, before looking around at Ron, who quickly hides a smirk and glances down at his clipboard.

 

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Ron says. “Go and see how fast this car is, will you?”

 

The car _is_ fast, Alain knows it on the first lap; the balance feels good, the tyres last, he can hear the Honda engine roaring behind his seat, its vibrations running down his back, the pistons firing smoothly.

 

He grins behind his helmet, thinking that ‘Alain Prost, three times World Champion’ has a nice ring to it, but then he remembers the look on Ayrton’s face after the joke earlier, and thinks that the championship may not be that easy after all.

 

Alain had let the moment pass without thinking, but now, sitting in the snug cockpit, watching the empty grandstands slide past him, he wonders why the Brazilian had reacted like that. He remembers John Watson winking at him as he said the joke on Alain’s first day at McLaren, and Alain had laughed with the Irishman. Keke had laughed too, when Alain said it on the Finn’s first day as his teammate. It was just a silly tradition, what you had to say to the new guy. Surely Ayrton hadn’t taken it seriously? Alain puts it out of his mind, and brakes for the first corner.

 

He pulls back into the garage after the day’s testing is over. Ayrton is out of his car, reading through a huge stack of notes. Alain climbs out of the car, and takes off his helmet, glancing over at his teammate. Ayrton looks up at him at the same moment, unexpectedly.

 

Alain is taken aback but smiles at him. Ayrton nods briefly, before looking back down at the notes. Alain purses his lips. The Brazilian is clearly still upset from earlier. Alain decides to resolve this now before it becomes a problem. He approaches Ayrton, making sure there are no mechanics in earshot this time.

 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

 

Ayrton looks up again, assessing Alain coolly. “Ok.”

 

“I hope you weren’t... offended, by what I said earlier. It’s just an old joke here.” Alain says, haltingly.

 

“I know.” Ayrton says abruptly. “Ron explained after you’d gone.”

 

Alain is a little surprised by this, but tries not to let it show.

 

“Oh. Ok. Well, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. That we are ok with each other.” Alain says.

 

Ayrton does not reply. Alain, at a loss for what to do next, holds out his hand towards the other man. Ayrton considers it for a short moment, and then shakes it. His palm is warm and slightly sweaty. Alain smiles at him again, more openly this time, and Ayrton returns it.

 

“The car is good, don’t you think?” Alain says, now that the tension has dispersed slightly.

 

Ayrton nods. “This will be a season to remember, I think.”

 

“I hope so.”

  

* * *

**April**

**Brazilian Grand Prix – Rio de Janeiro**

**Senna 0, Prost 9**

“What happened to Ayrton?” Alain says to Ron as they make their way from the podium, drenched in champagne.

 

“He was disqualified.” Ron sighs resignedly. “For changing cars at the start. It only took the stewards thirty laps to decide.”

 

“It’s a shame.” Alain shrugs sympathetically.

 

Ron nods his agreement.  “I’m sure he’ll be winning before long.”

 

“Well, you’ve got me to do it until then.” Alain says wryly, giving his team boss a sidelong look. Ron laughs.

 

“I should bloody hope so, that’s what we’re paying you for.”  He says, and smiles at the Frenchman.

 

* * *

**San Marino Grand Prix – Imola**

**Senna 9, Prost 15**

               

Ron forces them to come to the victory party. It is the first European race of the season and there is an endless parade of sponsors to meet and VIPs to chat to. The party is boring apart from the champagne, and having to be here almost makes Alain wish they hadn’t won.

 

He manages to free himself from the small talk after a couple of hours, and heads for the sanctuary of bathroom, trying not to make eye contact with anyone on the way.

 

Alain shuts the door behind him and locks it. He freezes when he turns around and sees Ayrton, sitting on the windowsill. Ayrton looks just as surprised, and they stare at each other. Ayrton looks different in a shirt and tie and Alain can’t think of anything to say to him for a moment.

               

“Hiding too?” He eventually manages.

 

Ayrton nods.

 

“Why didn’t you lock the door?”

 

“There’s a lock?” Ayrton looks completely dumbfounded and Alain can’t help laughing slightly. Ayrton starts laughing too and Alain realises the Brazilian is a little bit drunk.

 

“Congratulations for the win, if I did not say already.” Alain says. “It’s a good way to come back from Brazil.”

 

Ayrton looks up at him. “Thanks. Perhaps I will win in France and we’ll be even.”

 

“Well, yes. But I hope you don’t!” Alain smiles. Ayrton doesn’t return the smile, instead lowering his gaze to the tiled floor, and Alain wonders, briefly, just how seriously his teammate meant what he had said.

               

“I’m sorry for that day, when we were testing here.” Ayrton says, his eyes still trained on the floor. Alain is taken aback, not expecting Ayrton to say this at all. “I thought you were making fun of me.”

 

“Well, we were, I suppose. It’s just what a new guy in McLaren has to put up with.”

 

“No, not because I was new.” Ayrton shakes his head violently. “I thought, because you knew...” he looks up at Alain. “What I thought about you. What I think about you.”

 

Alain feels his face grow warm. Ayrton is drunker than he’d first thought. “What is that?”

 

“That you’re my... the driver I most respect. If I could drive like anyone...” Ayrton shrugs.

               

Alain doesn’t know what to say to this. They are saved from an awkward silence by a sudden knock on the door.

 

“Hurry up, will you, whoever it is in there? There’s a queue out here!”

 

Ayrton tries to stand up off the windowsill and fails, ending up sprawled on the floor, landing heavily. Alain starts towards him automatically, kneeling beside Ayrton to make sure he’s alright.

 

Ayrton, in his drunken state, finds the fall nothing but hilarious and starts laughing again, loudly. Alain tries to shush him, starting to slightly laugh himself.  Alain realises he is a little bit drunk too. Ayrton won’t stop giggling and Alain presses his hand over the Brazilian’s mouth. Ayrton licks Alain’s fingers. Alain yelps and takes his hand away immediately. They dissolve into laughter again.

               

“Shh, shh, they’ll hear!” Alain pleads, gasping with laughter. He pulls Ayrton up, making him kneel. Ayrton is still giggling, grabbing Alain’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Ayrton sways and Alain instinctively grabs his waist to stop him falling again. They straighten up, much closer than before.

 

Ayrton’s laugh fades away. He looks suddenly young, vulnerable; gazing at Alain from under long eyelashes. Alain is not stupid; he knows where this is going, and he knows he should get far away from it. He’s been in F1 long enough to know this sort of thing between teammates never ends well.

 

Maybe if he hadn’t drunk so much he would move. But he stays where he is, kneeling in front of his teammate.

 

Ayrton kisses him softly. He tastes like champagne. Alain does not hesitate in kissing back.

 

There is another knock and they spring apart.

 

* * *

**May**

**Monaco Grand Prix – Monte Carlo**

**Senna 9, Prost 24**

 

Ron does not congratulate Alain after his victory. He is beside himself.

 

“ _You_ don’t have any idea where he would go, do you?” Ron asks him sharply.

 

“No. Why would I?” Alain replies quickly. He cannot help being defensive, even though Ron’s question was innocent. He is tense when anyone talks to him about Ayrton now, worried he will somehow reveal what happened after Imola. Neither he nor Ayrton have spoken about it.

 

“I’ve never known anything like it.” Ron carries on, ignoring Alain’s reply. “He didn’t even come back to the pits! Just left his car where he crashed and wandered off into the crowd...”

 

“He wasn’t hurt, was he?” Alain says casually, trying not to sound too worried.

 

“I don’t know, do I? Nobody’s seen him since! He might be floating in the harbour for all we know.” Ron says, pacing up and down.

 

“He’ll turn up.” Alain says, trying not to picture what Ron has just said.

 

“He better.”

 

 *

Ayrton turns up later that night, knocking on Alain’s hotel room door. He looks terrible, pale and hollow-eyed, still in his race overalls. He comes inside without waiting for an invitation.

               

“Where have you been?” Alain says. This is the first time he has been alone with Ayrton since Imola and a strange mix of emotions floods him. Relief that Ayrton is alright, lingering embarrassment from their kiss, and something else Alain does not wish to identify.  Ayrton does not answer his question.

 

“Why did you do that in the race?” He says unexpectedly, his back turned to Alain.

 

“What?” Alain is utterly confused.

 

“We were heading for a one-two, but you wouldn’t back off.”

 

“We were racing.” Alain says, beginning to lose his patience. “Why should I back off? Besides, I was about 30 seconds behind! How can it be my fault that you got distracted-”

 

“Don’t!” Ayrton turns to face him, finally. He looks on the verge of tears. Alain is a little surprised, and he softens.

“Look, you should talk to Ron, tell him you’re alright. He’s very worried. You can call from here-” Alain starts towards the bedside table, before Ayrton speaks again.

 

“I should have won today.”

 

“You’re upset.” Alain says, trying not to become angry now.

 

“This is the same as 1984.” Ayrton says, disregarding Alain’s last comment. “You cheated me out of that win here too.”

               

Alain breathes deeply. He expected high emotion from the Brazilian, but not a direct accusation. Moreover, wasn’t _anyone_ going to congratulate him today?

 

“I’m not going to fight with you, Ayrton, if that’s why you came here. I’m sorry you crashed, but it was not my fault.” He says firmly.

 

Ayrton _is_ crying now, silently. He wipes his eyes on the sleeves of his race overalls, leaving oily smudges on his cheeks. Alain can’t help feeling sorry for him, again.

 

“Sit down. Come on.” Alain sits next to him on the end of his bed, and pats his back awkwardly. “There are plenty more races for you to win this season.” He says, recalling Ron’s words in Brazil.

 

Ayrton shrugs.

 

“I don’t know what happened. I was concentrating. All I can think is that I got too close to the apex and the steering wheel got away from my hands. With the vibration from the kerb. The next thing I was on the other side of the road in the barriers.” The Brazilian’s voice is heavy with emotion.

 

Alain nods, not really listening. This whole situation is absurd. He won the Monaco Grand Prix today, won it for the fourth time in five years, but he has not been congratulated by his team boss or his teammate. He should be at a party, being toasted by Monaco’s richest and most glamorous people. He should be celebrating his win, not commiserating Ayrton’s mistake.

               

“I am the biggest idiot in the world.” Ayrton says. He rests his head on Alain’s shoulder, and Alain suddenly forgets his resentment, and wants to make him okay.

 

He rests his hand in the small of Ayrton’s back, and kisses him.

 

*

Ayrton breathes in sharply, his fingernails pressing on Alain’s back.

 

“Is it ok?” Alain whispers in the darkness. Ayrton nods, tilting his head to catch Alain’s mouth with his. They kiss, again and again, moving together slowly.

 

 *

Alain is almost asleep when Ayrton speaks.

 

“Can we make a promise?”

 

“What?” Alain murmurs sleepily.

 

 The Brazilian rolls onto his back, facing Alain.

 

“Our car is good. Maybe good enough to win all races this year. We can’t throw away wins like we did today, by fighting.”

               

Alain props himself up on his elbow, looking down at Ayrton’s shaded face. The resentment still lingers, even now, and he has to resist telling Ayrton that even though _he_ might have crashed, the win wasn’t exactly thrown away.

 

“We should have an agreement. We can race each other, but only after we are both past the first corner after the start. Whoever makes the best start, and gets to the corner first, the other guy should let him go, and try to catch up later in the race.”

 

“That’s fair. Ok.”

               

“Apart from if there are technical problems, or a crash.” Ayrton adds, his eyes shining earnestly in the darkness. Alain smiles wryly.

 

“Ok.”

 

“Will you shake on it?” Ayrton says.

 

“I will do something better.” Alain says softly, and kisses him on the forehead.     

* * *

**Mexican Grand Prix – Mexico City**

**Senna 15, Prost 33**

 

Alain wins his third race out of four. On the podium, Ayrton mutters to him that they should do what they did in Monaco after each race they win. Gerhard, on the other podium step, gives them a funny look.  Alain tries to smile casually as he puts his arm around Ayrton.

 

* * *

**June**

**Canadian Grand Prix – Montreal**

**Senna 24, Prost 39**

 

Ayrton dives past him at the hairpin. Alain sees him in his mirrors, sees Ayrton lining up to pass and he knows with a slight thrill exactly what Ayrton means by it. It’s not really about the race win anymore. Ayrton is taking his testing joke seriously. _Whoever wins gets to... come first_. Ayrton wants that, he wants to be in control tonight, when it is just the two of them in a hotel room.

               

Alain does not fight the move.

 

* * *

**American Grand Prix – Detroit**

**Senna 33, Prost 45**

Ayrton wins again, making them level on victories. Ron is ecstatic, even in his wildest dreams he could not have imagined six wins from six races at the beginning of the season. No other team has come anywhere near to beating them in a race yet, but Alain cannot quite share the team’s jubilation at their dominance.

 

Lately, he has been thinking about something he read in a newspaper before the Monaco Grand Prix earlier in the year; Nelson Piquet had been up to his old tricks, insulting his ex-teammate Nigel Mansell through the media. There had been one throwaway comment at the end of the article that caught Alain’s attention, however. When asked about the situation at McLaren, Piquet had been quoted as saying “ _Alain and Ayrton are going to be fighting all season, just like me and Nigel were._ ”

 

Alain remembers only too well the 1986 season, when he became champion by the smallest of margins, beating Mansell and Piquet even though their Williams had been superior to his McLaren. They had lost the title to him by focusing only on each other, because their car was usually so far ahead of everyone else’s.

               

With no-one else to challenge them in the races, Alain worries that the same could happen this year, between him and Ayrton. He does not share his concern with Ron, however.

  

* * *

**July**

**French Grand Prix – Le Castellet**

**Senna 39, Prost 54**

 

 Alain wins his home grand prix on a glorious summer’s day. It is his third victory in France, six years since he took his very first grand prix win at Dijon. Ayrton finishes second.

 

After the podium ceremony, they kiss recklessly, barely concealed behind the motor home. Ayrton is pressed against him, his race overalls unzipped to the waist. He smells of sweat and petrol.

Alain feels slightly drunk, but not with champagne.

 

It’s this day, this perfect season and his maddening, fascinating teammate. He knows he’s getting in too deep, letting this get out of control, but it’s becoming too late for him to stop.

 

A part of him knows it’s too good to last; eventually this thing between them will unravel, and fade into awkwardness or even dislike. Alain has seen it happen before, and not just in F1.

 

He wishes he could stop time, just for a little while. If he could press some universal pause button and keep things as they are at this moment, he would; the afterglow of a race win, the taste of champagne and the warmth of Ayrton’s lips.

 

Eventually there are voices nearby, and Ayrton pulls away.

 

“See you tonight.” The Brazilian murmurs, before adding, “Congratulations for your win.”

 

He brushes his fingers against Alain’s, and walks away.

* * *

**British Grand Prix – Silverstone**

**Senna 48, Prost 54**

 

The British Grand Prix takes place just one week later, but for Alain it feels light years away from France.

 

To begin with it is wet, and he has never been comfortable with racing in the rain since Didier’s accident at Hockenheim. That Ayrton thrives in these conditions makes it that much harder.

 

He makes a terrible start, falling from 4th to 9th on the first lap. The spray is blinding, so much so that he cannot see anything even on the straights. It makes him nervous, as it always has since Hockenheim. The team radios to tell him Ayrton is leading, lapping much faster than he is. But they do not ask if Alain has a problem with his car. That they don’t bother to even ask is telling.

 

Alain does not misinterpret the hurry-up from the team. He knows he could push more, find more grip and catch up to Ayrton, but he thinks of Didier lying in a hospital bed and he knows he won’t do it. He _could_ do it, but he won’t.

 

Alain made a choice after the summer of 1982, after Gilles died and Didier’s career ended. That choice was to never push in wet conditions, to remember that the most important thing was to stay safe, and to climb out of the car again at the end of the race. Alain has always stuck to that decision, and he intends to stick to it today, no matter what the media might write, what Ron might shout, and what Ayrton might think.

 

Ayrton comes round to lap him before they have even completed ten laps. He dives up the inside in a ridiculously do-or-die move, and Alain almost stalls getting out of his way. _For God’s sake,_ Alain thinks furiously, _you’re only lapping me. There is no need for theatrics._ But Alain cannot work out who he is more angry at; Ayrton or himself.

 

Alain retires on lap eleven, and watches from the garage as Ayrton takes the chequered flag, finishing some 23 seconds ahead of Mansell’s Williams.

 

He feels jealous of Ayrton’s ability in the wet; he has no shame in admitting that to himself, but mingled with the jealousy there is some slight pity for Ayrton, and a sense of foreboding. Ayrton drives without fear, constantly on the edge. Alain recognises it because he drove like that too, before he saw men killed in race-cars. He only hopes that will not have to happen again, to slow Ayrton down.

  

* * *

**German Grand Prix – Hockenheim**

**Senna 57, Prost 60**

 

“Is it possible to be equal, in the championship?” Alain jokes in the post-race press conference.

 

“No.” Ayrton replies, without hesitating. He is smiling, but Alain knows he means it completely.  They are now over halfway through the season, and Alain can tell Ayrton is taking it more seriously, with the championship in his sights. With today’s victory, he leads Alain in the championship by five wins to four.

 

 Alain fears from Detroit have started to resurface recently; that they will lose the championship by fighting against each other. He no longer thinks that exactly though; the car is too good for them to lose either title. But Alain wonders now whether they will lose whatever it is they have between each other. Teammates are not meant to fall in love as they fight for championships.

               

“Shit.” Alain laughs, and looks away.

 

* * *

**August**

**Hungarian Grand Prix - Budapest**

**Senna 66, Prost 66**

Ayrton wins. Alain is second.

* * *

**Belgian Grand Prix – Spa-Francorchamps**

**Senna 75, Prost 72**

Ayrton wins again. Alain is second again.

 

Alain has never been beaten by a teammate to this extent before. He has not been able to get close to Ayrton in a race since the French Grand Prix, and it is beginning to bother him. Ayrton has been

copying his set-up at every race, and generally doing better with it than Alain has.

 

Somewhat frantically, Alain changed his car’s balance this morning, before the race, without telling Ron. Or Ayrton. It didn’t work, and Ayrton took his seventh win of the season. He fucked Alain in the motor home after the race, and for the first time this season Alain didn’t particularly enjoy it.

 

Now, after driving home, Alain considers calling Niki. He stands in his darkened kitchen, arms folded, staring at the phone on the wall. He knows too well that Niki will tell him he’s not interested in talking about driving in circles anymore, but Alain is getting... desperate. He picks up the phone, and dials his old teammate’s number.

 

“You beat me, once or twice when we were at McLaren. Even though I was younger and quicker than you.” He says bluntly, after the small talk and pleasantries are over.

 

“Seven times, actually.” Alain can clearly picture a wry smile on the Austrian’s face.

 

“Seven times, then.”

 

“Why are you calling me, Alain?” Niki says, just as bluntly.

 

“Because I seem to have turned into an old Niki Lauda with a young upstart Alain Prost for a teammate.” Alain says.

 

“And you want advice from old Niki Lauda? Incidentally, I don’t remember you as an upstart...”

 

“Niki. He’s faster than me.” Alain says quietly.

 

“I had the very same problem with a teammate a few years ago. The young upstart Alain Prost, do you remember him?” Niki says. Then his voice grows serious. “Any younger driver is going to be faster than you, Alain. It’s a fact of life. You lose a tenth for every new wrinkle, or so it seemed to me. You’ve just got to out-think him, that’s all. You’ve had four more years of Formula One than he has; you’ve got to make them count... in whatever way you can.”

 

“How?” Alain sighs.

 

“Oh come on, Alain. You know how. You’ve beaten him already this year, haven’t you? What did you do in those races?”

 

“Nothing! Nothing different. The only time I win is when he makes mistakes.” Alain can hear his voice becoming slightly emotional, and hates it.

 

“So force him to make a mistake.”

 

Alain leans against the wall, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I suppose. I don’t know, Niki. I’ve never been this bothered by losing to my teammate before. Not even you.”

 

“There’s something between you two, isn’t there?” Niki says calmly, ignoring Alain’s feeble attempt at a joke.

 

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.” Alain pauses. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“You wouldn’t want to beat him so badly if there were no feelings involved.”

               

* * *

**September**

**Italian Grand Prix – Monza**

**Senna 75, Prost 72**

On his lap to the grid, Alain can hear the Honda engine behind his seat misfiring, and he knows it won’t last the race. Ayrton is on pole, again, and Alain knows as well that he cannot let the Brazilian take an eighth victory if he wants to remain in their title fight. An intense desperation takes hold of him as he sits in the car, mechanics and his pit crew swarming around him. He cannot let Ayrton take another victory. The championship will be as good as over.

 

He remembers Niki’s advice after Spa, and Ayrton’s tears after Monaco. Heat hazes up from the track, the mechanics gone. Alain watches it in something like a trance. He knows how he can end Ayrton’s race today. He’s known all along, it seems.

 

Alain lets Ayrton lead into the first corner, and then turns his turbo charge up to maximum. There is no point worrying about fuel consumption today. He pursues Ayrton relentlessly, treating each lap as if it is a qualifying run, knowing Ayrton will not fail to take the bait. Ayrton had panicked and crashed in Monte Carlo when told that Alain was faster than him, and Alain’s plan is to generate the same outcome today. At the very least, Ayrton will have to turn up his turbo too, to keep Alain behind, and that will make his fuel marginal at the end of the race.

 

Alain’s engine dies on lap thirty four, and he leaves to watch the end of the race in the motor home, feeling a savage pleasure as Ayrton’s lap-times begin to increase towards the end of the race. He is running out of fuel, and the Ferraris are catching.

 

Alain feels almost no surprise when Ayrton crashes softly into a backmarker whilst rushing to lap him. He spins out of the race, and the Ferraris take a 1-2, Berger and Alboreto. It is the first time a McLaren car has failed to win a race all season.

 

Ayrton comes to his room later and cries onto his shoulder, saying how he has let the team down. It is an almost identical repeat of the night in Monaco. Alain is sure that Ayrton is completely unaware of how he was manipulated in the race, and for the first time that day he hates what he’s done.

 

He takes Ayrton to bed, and watches afterwards as the Brazilian falls asleep next to him. He tells himself that he wants to make this work. He will not let the championship fight ruin what is between them. Alain promises himself he will not take any more of Niki’s advice.

 

* * *

**Portuguese Grand Prix – Estoril**

**Senna 76, Prost 81**

 

“At least one of us won today.” Ayrton smiles. “Congratulations.”

 

Alain knows Ayrton well enough by now to see the Brazilian doesn’t mean it. He can see a little spark of something, jealousy or something else, in Ayrton’s eyes, and Alain can’t understand it. Ayrton is leading him in the championship by seven wins to five. He only needs one more victory to secure the title, and yet he resents Alain winning today?

 

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that?” Alain says, before he can stop himself.

 

“What?” Ayrton says.

 

“What?” Alain mimics him. “What do you think? What were you doing at the start, pushing me against the pit wall at two hundred miles per hour?”

 

“You’re angry about _that_?” Ayrton starts to laugh, but sees the look on Alain’s face and clearly decides against it.

               

“Well?” Alain demands.

 

 “I was just defending” Ayrton shrugs. He is still smiling, but only his mouth. His eyes are turning stony. “What do you want me to do? Let everyone who tries to overtake me go past? Without defending?”

 

“I’m your teammate.” Alain says.

 

“So? We are fighting for the title, just you and me.” Any trace of a smile is gone.

 

“So what? When someone has the slipstream, when he has the inside line, you do the correct thing! You let him past - no matter whether he is fighting for the title with you or if he’s a backmarker!”

 

Ayrton looks at him shrewdly. “I am not stupid, Alain. I understand what happened at Monza, what you did in the race.”

 

Alain feels a sick swoop in his stomach, but tries not to show it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“Maybe after today you will understand you cannot do that sort of thing to me. To a teammate.” Ayrton shrugs.

 

Alain is dumbfounded. “You did that... to _punish_ me? You were getting back at me by doing that... God! You could have killed me, and yourself! I saw people in front of me having to pull their pitboards in to avoid us.” He draws back from the Brazilian. “You could have _really_ hurt someone doing that, Ayrton.”

 

“Nothing happened.” Ayrton is silent for a while. “It doesn’t matter. _Nothing happened_. I wasn’t going to let us touch.”

               

Alain throws up his hands. “Oh, _tres bien_ , thank God _you_ were in control of that! What if _I_ wasn’t completely in control, Ayrton? What if _I_ can’t stop us touching? What happens then, at two hundred miles an hour?”

 

“What is the problem? You won!” Ayrton almost shouts, before breathing deeply. “Nothing happened. I don’t understand you.”

 

“No, you really don’t, do you?” Alain says.  “Nothing happened this time. What about next time, if you carry on driving this way? What if we end up in the gravel, or worse?”

 

“Well,” Ayrton looks up at Alain, “you will know not to try and overtake me, next time.”

 

“If you want the championship that badly, you can have it.” Alain shakes his head, and leaves.

 

Later he comes back.

 

They kiss, but don’t quite apologize, and go to bed.

 

Afterwards, Alain lies awake, Ayrton’s soft breath on the back of his neck and the Brazilian’s hand resting on his stomach. Alain thinks of Gilles, Niki’s scars, and the rain drumming down on Didier’s car. He feels a rush of hate and anger towards Ayrton.

 

Ayrton, who has never seen an accident in F1 that the driver did not walk away from. Ayrton, who puts his car wherever he wants and expects everyone else to move out of his way, unless they want to crash.

 

Ayrton, who never pleaded with doctors in the rain, who never screamed at them not to take Didier’s legs.  

 

And then Alain hates himself more for thinking those things, and interlaces his fingers with Ayrton’s.

 

But he still falls asleep with Ayrton’s words in his head.

 

_You will know not to try next time._

  

* * *

**October**

**Spanish Grand Prix – Jerez**

**Senna 79, Prost 84 (90)**

Alain takes an easy victory in the Spanish sunshine. Fuel consumption hampers Ayrton’s race, and he finishes a distant fourth, despite starting from pole.

 

When they meet later in Alain’s room, the atmosphere is uncomfortable. Alain does not really know what to do to break the awkward silence that has sprung up between them after their fight in Portugal, and neither it seems does Ayrton.

 

In the end they don’t say much.

 

* * *

**Japanese Grand Prix – Suzuka**

**Senna 87 (88), Prost 84 (96)**

For the first thirteen laps, after Ayrton stalls on the grid and is left behind, Alain allows himself to dream that he can take the Championship to the final race in Australia. On lap fourteen, however, the rain begins, and Alain finally accepts he will not be champion this year.

 

Ayrton sweeps past him on lap 27, through traffic, but Alain is not upset. The relentless jealousy he has felt towards Ayrton since Silverstone has begun to dissipate, and Alain feels something like relief. There may be a future for them after all. The championship is done, decided in Ayrton’s favour, and maybe that’s best. Alain has two championships already, how many more does he need?

 

On the podium, Alain cannot be anything but happy for Ayrton. He has the same expression that he had at the party in Imola; young and vulnerable and awestruck. Alain shakes his hand after Ayrton receives his trophy, and they both hold each other’s grip for a moment longer than usual. Ayrton smiles at him, secretively, and Alain really believes it can work for them.

* * *

**November**

**Australian Grand Prix – Adelaide**

**Senna 90 (94), Prost 87 (105)**

 

Alain wins the final race of the season, Ayrton finishing second behind him. On the podium, Ayrton embraces him, and they smile giddily for the cameras. All the tension that had built up between them over the season has gone completely, now the championship is out of their way.

 

There is a party mood in the paddock, a real holiday feeling, and nowhere is the feeling stronger than at McLaren. Even Ron is bitten by the atmosphere, and he holds a huge party that night, to celebrate the winning of both titles. Champagne is pouring, VIPs are circulating, and once more Alain contrives to find himself locked in the bathroom with Ayrton. They kiss, giggling like children.

 

“Let’s get out of here so we can celebrate properly.” Ayrton murmurs, and Alain shakes his head, grinning.

               

“Ron would kill us.”

 

“He’ll kill us anyway if he finds out what we’re doing in here.” Ayrton says, and kisses him again.

 

Alain pulls away eventually, breathless. “Look, before I get too drunk later, I have to say this: congratulations. Really, you deserved the championship. I am just sorry it got so bad between us during the season.”

 

Ayrton shrugs. “We have to do it all again next year.”

 

Alain shakes his head. “I’m not doing this again. No, I’m serious; I can’t live this way for another season.” He says, when Ayrton laughs slightly.

 

“Ok, ok, next year will be different.”

 

“Really?” Alain looks up at his teammate.

 

“One hundred percent. I promise.”

 

Alain believes him.


	2. Part 2: 1989

**March**

**Winter Testing – Rio de Janeiro**

**Senna 0, Prost 0**

I won’t lie; Ron begged me. It’s the only reason I came to the test. He called me at home, quite late in the night and begged me to come today. I said no at first, gave the usual reasons; this is my home and I am here with my family, I haven’t seen them all year. He didn’t accept it this time.

 

“Come on Ayrton, you have to make an appearance. You can’t keep making excuses every test. Alain’s driven the car non-stop while you’ve been lying on the beach for the last three months. It’s time you did your share.”

 

That was unfair. I mean it really hurt me, but I let it go. He was right anyway; I’m out of excuses now. But I could not tell him the real reason, of course. That I was scared to see Alain again. I was not sure what to do around him now, what to say. I hadn’t spoken to him all through winter, since the Championship gala in Monaco.

 

I’ve been thinking about last year quite a lot. After coming home, being back in Brazil after almost a year away, I finally had time to think rationally about it all, let my mind calm down. There was so much to take in last year; winning the championship, our car being so much faster than everybody, not least what happened between Alain and myself.

 

I will admit it, I didn’t act rationally. We were just so crazy, everything that happened between us. Everything was instinctive. Whenever something happened, whether we fought or made love, it was never through thinking. We were drunk, or just out of the cars and full of adrenaline, acting only emotionally. I never wanted it to be that way between us, just random emotion.

 

Alain said to me in Australia that he didn’t want this year to be like last year. I agree. I want more between us. I want to talk to him, be with him properly. I don’t think Alain understands how I feel towards him. I was in awe of him when I became a Formula One driver; he was the best driver on the grid easily. I thought he was my hero for a little while, but then before I joined McLaren I realised the feeling was something else, like a crush. I tried to tell him in Imola last year, but he was not really listening.

 

Anyway, all of this was in my mind as I came to the test this morning, as well as the excitement of driving the new car for the first time. I got to the circuit a little before ten o’ clock and everyone was already there. I said hello to all my mechanics, shook hands, asked how their winter break went and swapped stories. I said hello briefly to Alain too. He smiled at me. All the nerves I had about seeing him again went. It felt good to be back together. He’s had his hair cut shorter but it still curls in that funny way. Before we could talk really Ron said I had to get in the car.

 

I went out and did some laps but I could not concentrate at all, not on anything the mechanics wanted me to work on. I was glad when the lunch break arrived, and we went back to the motorhome to eat.

 

I sat next to Alain at lunch and we talked a little bit about the new car. Then, when I was sure everyone was preoccupied by their meal I asked him to come back to the empty garage with me.

 

“Did you have a nice break over the winter?”

 

“I missed you.”

 

We spoke at the same time. He laughed a little bit.

 

“Yeah, I missed you too. At all the tests. Why haven’t you been to any of the others?”

 

“I was nervous of seeing you again. I didn’t know if you still were interested in us.” I wasn’t shy in talking to him in this way, which surprised me a little bit. It felt natural to talk openly.

 

He looked taken aback, but smiled again. “Us? Us as teammates, or us as people?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Of course I am.” He said quietly. “I thought it was perhaps the other way around. That you stayed away because you were not interested in _me_ anymore.”

 

This surprised me slightly. I had not considered it from his point of view.

 

“Of course I am. I’ve thought about last year a lot while I’ve been back here.”

 

He didn’t say anything.

 

“I want there to be more between us.”

 

“Yes. I want that too. But as teammates as well.” He looked away from me, around the garage. “I want it to be less tense during the championship. There has to be less rivalry between us. I meant what I said at the end of last season; I can’t live another year that way. It’s too much drama for me.” He smiled slightly.

 

“I promised it wouldn’t be like that again.”

 

“I know. But I’ve been thinking about last year too, you know. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

 

“Ok.”

 

He held out his hand, but I shook my head. I stepped forward and kissed him, only for a short while. He still tastes the same.

 

* * *

**Brazilian Grand Prix – Rio de Janeiro**

**Senna 0, Prost 6**

 

_“This weekend, we could be in for some surprises, for some fights with other drivers. Alain Prost and myself lost touch with that situation last year. Perhaps at Marlboro McLaren we had got into the bad habit of thinking we would always be one or two seconds quicker than the others...”_

That’s what I said in the press conference at the start of the weekend, what they put in the newspapers. I did not think that really though; I knew we would still be near the front. And we were, but the race was an absolute disaster. Perhaps I jinxed it for myself by saying that.

 

 Obviously we could not expect the same as last year, but my result was unlucky and unfair. Why do races always end so badly for me here in Brazil? It was only a small contact with Berger. He came to me straight after the race and said I shouldn’t try that sort of thing with him again, because he will not back off. What does that mean? What ‘sort of thing’? Just because I was on the outside I am the cause of the collision? There was a gap and I went for it. He shouldn’t have left the gap. Fucking idiot.

 

Second was an alright result for Alain anyway, good points for the team but he could have won. If I hadn’t had to retire, I could have won. I don’t understand how Alain can sometimes say ‘ok, second is good enough for me, I will settle for this’. He should try for the win always.

Of course I didn’t say that to him when I met him after the race. I promised him; no more rivalry. The championship is separate from us.

 

We made love for the first time since Adelaide. I missed him.  It’s good to fall asleep together. I said that to him and he laughed and said I had woken him up.

 

* * *

**April**

**San Marino Grand Prix – Imola**

**Senna 9, Prost 12**

I don’t understand this. I don’t. He’s overreacting. I don’t understand why he is being like this. It was so good in Brazil, everything was great. How can he be doing this now, just two weeks later? What has changed? We got the same result today as we did here last year; a 1-2, my victory. But last year was so different; it was the start of everything between us. This year Alain says to me that it’s over.

 

He was sitting in my room after the race, waiting for me. I thought he wanted to celebrate, but he looked unhappy, angry. I thought maybe it was because of Berger’s crash, which was awful but he is ok at least. But you know sometimes Alain is too sensitive about crashing, so I thought perhaps he was upset by that. But it wasn’t that at all.

 

“You couldn’t even last two races without breaking that promise, could you?” This was the first thing he said to me. He wouldn’t look at me, he just stared hard at the floor.

 

“What are you talking about?” I said. I couldn’t think what could be his problem.

“That this year will be different! No more stupid rivalry!” He stood up. His voice was getting louder and louder.

 

“What am I supposed to have done?” I was really confused. He was just shouting at me and not giving any clue why.

 

“At the start, Ayrton! You know, when we agreed last year that we would not race until after the first corner? I thought you would remember that, as you were the one to suggest it!”

 

“You are making no sense! There was no problem at the start at all. You’re being crazy.”

“I can’t believe I have to spell this out to you! No, there was no problem at the first start. But after Gerhard’s crash the race was stopped and we had the _restart_. I pulled away first and got away better than you did. I was looking in my mirrors and I saw you were closest. I didn’t bother to defend because we always said whoever got to the first corner first out of us would be left alone. And then you fucking dived up the inside!”

 

This was absolutely ridiculous. “You left a gap!”

 

“Because I wasn’t trying to defend! I didn’t think you would try to overtake me, because we have always had that rule!”

 

“You’re twisting the rule anyway. It was only for the first start, the actual start of the race. We never had a rule for restarts. They do not count.” I mean, this is true. We’ve never discussed restarts.

 

Alain did not seem to understand that though. “I honestly can’t believe that you’re able to stand there and say that to me. And you expect me to believe you! It’s shit and you know it. You _know_ you broke that agreement today, and you’re trying to backtrack and make up for it. I wouldn’t care so much if it hadn’t been _your suggestion_ in the first place!” He exhaled, looking all around the room. I think he was trying to think what to say next.

I was trying not to get emotional at this point but everything he was saying was unfair and it was really hurting me. All that had happened at the restart was he had got the better start, that’s true, but I got the slipstream and accelerated quicker than him. I had to overtake; I was going faster at that point. It doesn’t matter that it was before the corner or not, it was the braking zone that was the important part. That’s what I meant when I suggested the rule to him. And I didn’t attack him in the braking area, it was before that. Then he wasn’t defending, there was a gap and I went through. It was completely ok and he was getting upset over nothing, just because I won and he came second.

 

I couldn’t believe the next thing he said, however. It took a few moments for me to understand what he meant.

 

“I said I couldn’t do this for another year, Ayrton, and I can’t. I can’t take it, how different you become on the racetrack, how you can try and justify all the things you’ve done to me. Portugal last year was bad enough, but this is too far. I can’t be with you anymore. Not after today.”

 

“What do you mean? You’re leaving?”

 

“Not the team. Just you.”

               

He slammed the door behind him.

 

* * *

**Mid-season test – Pembrey, Wales**

**Senna 9, Prost 12**

 

It’s only been two days since Imola. We both had to come to this test, in the middle of nowhere in Wales. Before I arrived I thought maybe Alain would have calmed down by now, be ready to talk again and resolve what happened between us. I was ready to do that. But he is still acting ridiculously. He came to the test today with Ron. In just the two days since the race he had already told Ron what happened between us, even though it is our private business and not anything to do with the team.

 

Ron sat down with us in the motorhome, and said we had to talk to each other and fix the problem we had on Sunday. I was a little bit scared because I thought Ron was saying he knew about our relationship, maybe that Alain had told him the whole truth. But it was not that, Ron doesn’t know about that (I don’t think that he should), he only meant it for the team.

 

“Is it true you had an agreement about the start?” He asked me.

 

“Yes.” I replied.

 

“Why did you not honour it?”

 

“It’s not me; it was Alain that changed the agreement.” That is completely true. Alain had tried to say the agreement was for the restart but it never was. Why can’t he understand that?

 

“This is absolutely unbelievable.” Alain said quietly. It was the first time he’d said anything to me. “Ayrton, how can you say that? You were there when we made the agreement. You know what it was. I changed nothing.”

 

“It was never for the restart!” I was beginning to get tired of having the same argument with him over this.

 

“Ayrton, I just can’t believe that.” Ron said “Why would you have an agreement about race starts that didn’t include restarts? You have to see it from my point of view. I won’t have a civil war in my team. I want this resolved.”

 

If I am honest, I became too emotional after this. They were both blowing the situation out of proportion, making it all my fault. I remember crying a little bit. We had tested all morning and I was tired, they were putting it all on my shoulders. Alain wouldn’t say anything much, he just sat across from me saying how bad it was for the spirit of the team. Ron wouldn’t stop talking about how he couldn’t allow us to fight like this. I wanted it to be over.

 

In the end Ron said I had to apologise to Alain. I did it just to shut them up.          

* * *

**May**

**Monaco Grand Prix – Monte Carlo**

**Senna 18, Prost 18**

I’m glad I won today. It’s a sort of justice after everything that happened after Imola. Ron really was happy for me; he seems to be able to move on from what happened. It’s more than I can say for Alain. He hasn’t spoken to me all weekend. I haven’t tried to speak to him.

 

It feels strange not to be with him after a race, but I keep remembering all the absurd things he accused me of and I am still quite angry about it. I am angry that I had to apologise too. I think it’s best to put a bit of distance between us until he realises he owes _me_ an apology. Then I will be ready to be with him again.

               

There is no question of us not being together again. Alain did not mean what he said in Imola, I’m sure. He’ll understand that before long, and it will be ok between us again. He just gets too emotional sometimes.

* * *

**Mexico Grand Prix – Mexico City**

**Senna 27, Prost 20**

Today’s race was my third consecutive victory of the season. Any other driver would be having the biggest party of their lives. I feel nothing like that though. Alain is still not talking to me.  This is unfair. Why is he doing this to me? To both of us? Because I know he misses me too. I know he does.

               

* * *

**June**

**United States Grand Prix – Phoenix**

**Senna 27, Prost 29**

Alain spoke to me, to congratulate me on my new record. I now have won thirty four pole positions, one more than Jim Clark. Records are a bit meaningless to me if I tell the truth. But it meant Alain finally broke his silence with me, so maybe they’re not so meaningless.

 

 He approached me in the garage after qualifying. All he said was congratulations. I said thank you. He shook my hand. That was it, but it’s something. A little bit of hope.

 

I didn’t finish the race after all that. The engine began to misfire and I had to stop on the side of the track. There was no point getting too upset over it. It shows how meaningless that record is anyway. Thirty four pole positions will not prevent your engine failing.

I think I feel ok that Alain won.

* * *

**Canadian Grand Prix – Montreal**

**Senna 27, Prost 29**

Alain came to my room after the race. He didn’t speak, neither did I. We kissed, not lovingly, and went to bed. I won’t say we made love because there was no tenderness to it. Neither of us said anything throughout. We lay still afterwards, but he eventually put his arms around me.

 

“Why is it never straightforward for us?” He murmured. He wasn’t really asking me, he was just thinking out loud.

 

The race was shit for us both. It rained heavily all day, and Alain can’t drive in the wet. I ran out of fuel. I think that’s why he came to see me, because it was so bad for both of us.

 

Just as we were falling asleep, he pulled me close to him, so he was lying right behind me. I knew that I had missed him in that way, but I hadn’t realised how much.

 

“You know what’s going to happen in France, don’t you?” He said quietly.

 

Of course I did. I wanted to carry on pretending though. “Don’t talk about it. Not now.”

 

He kissed me softly along my neck and shoulder.

 

“Ok.” He said, in between kisses.

 

* * *

**July**

**French Grand Prix – Le Castellet**

**Senna 27, Prost 38**

This is what he said to the press:

 

_“I am announcing my decision to leave the Marlboro McLaren team. The decision was not an easy one to take. I have had six fantastic years, both from a racing and a human point of view, and I want to leave as friends with a lot of dignity.”_

 

I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. What is there to say other than that?

 

He won. He got pole. How could I fucking concentrate at all, with that going round my mind all weekend?

 

He promised me that he wouldn’t leave the team. I can picture him so clearly saying it, in my hotel room in Imola. “Not the team. Just you.”

 

He accuses me of breaking agreements and promises, but he has done this.

 

Why? Why do we always fall apart like this?

 

It’s not good for me to think about him anymore. I have to focus on the championship from now on. If he is not going to be my teammate, why should I care about him?

* * *

**British Grand Prix – Silverstone**

**Senna 27, Prost 47**

He won. I had to retire. I will win the next race. I will win this championship.

* * *

**German Grand Prix – Hockenheim**

**Senna 36, Prost 53**

I won. I said I would.

* * *

**August**

**Hungarian Grand Prix – Budapest**

**Senna 42, Prost 56**

Mansell won but I still managed to get on the podium by finishing second. _He_ could only manage fourth. He settled for it.

* * *

**Belgian Grand Prix – Spa-Francorchamps**

**Senna 51, Prost 62**

I won again. Five wins this season. He only has three. He was happy with second again.

 

He tried to talk to me as we waited to go out to the podium.

 

“I know you’re upset that I’m leaving-” he began.

 

“I am only focused on winning my second championship, nothing else.” I interrupted. I didn’t look at him.

 

“Be serious. You’ve sulked throughout every race since France. You don’t have to make it this way, you know. It might be easier between us once I am in a different team.”

 

I laughed at this. I couldn’t help it. “If I’ve learned one thing by now, it’s that it will never be easy between us, Alain.”

 

“I cannot argue with that.” He said. We walked on to the podium in silence.

 

* * *

**September**

**Italian Grand Prix – Monza**

**Senna 51, Prost 71**

A lot of stupid things have happened this weekend. I am not really interested in this row Ron and Alain had about the trophy, or Alain publically accusing the team of giving my engines more power than his. I’m not really that bothered about where Alain is going next year. I am surprised he found a seat on such short notice, to be honest, never mind that it is a Ferrari seat. No, I am most upset about my result. Another retirement, because of my second engine failure this season. It’s worrying.

 

Alain said sarcastically that maybe it was because my engine had so much more power. It was an ugly thing to say. He is paranoid. It’s true the mechanics are a little bit more behind me now, but only because he is leaving, and worse than that, he’s leaving for Ferrari. Why would they stay loyal to a driver who is no longer loyal to them, but who goes to their rival team?

 

And the trophy thing is just stupid. Alain threw his winner’s trophy into the crowd of _tifosi_. Ron was incandescent. He has always said the trophies are not ours; they are the team’s property. For sure most other teams let the drivers keep their own trophies and the team will have the constructor’s cup, but that’s not the way Ron believes it should be done. He threw the constructor’s cup at Alain’s feet after the podium ceremony, I heard.

 

Anyway, the stupidest thing was that we fucked again. I don’t like to describe it in that way, but that’s what it was. It was in the motorhome, quickly, him on top. Sticking to the rule of that silly game we used to play; whoever wins gets to come first. We didn’t say anything to each other; not before, not during, not after. There’s nothing to say when it’s like that.         

* * *

**Portuguese Grand Prix – Estoril**

**Senna 51, Prost 75 (77)**

What happened in the race was a disgrace. Even though we’re still not talking much, I said to Alain that if he thinks I’m a bad teammate, just look what he’s going to have next year.

 

I still can’t quite believe what happened. Mansell ignored a black flag _three_ _times_ and then tried to overtake me and ended up taking us both off. It’s embarrassing for him and for the whole of Formula One that he has only been banned for one race. Ron says he was screaming down the radio for me not to fight Mansell; that he was disqualified, but I couldn’t hear a thing. The more I say it the more I can’t believe it; he just _ignored_ black disqualification flags. He said he couldn’t see them but that’s shit and he knows it.

 

Alain said that at least I am angry with someone else for a change.

* * *

**October**

**Spanish Grand Prix – Jerez**

**Senna 60, Prost 76 (81)**

With my victory today the championship will carry on to Suzuka, where I became champion last year. I have a good feeling about it; I love the circuit and there is always a good chance of rain there. I have to win both of the next races to be able to win the championship. Nothing else will do. Fortunately I have never been happy to settle for anything less than a win.

 

* * *

**Japanese Grand Prix – Suzuka**

**Senna 60, Prost 76 (81)**

I cannot properly explain how hard I am trying to not become emotional. I don’t want emotion to cloud this. It might help if I put everything that has happened into its correct order in my mind, the events that lead to me sitting here in the stewards’ room, looking down at the track where I rightfully won today’s race. It’s best if I try to explain it to myself.

               

It started with what Alain said to Ron before we had even got into the cars at all this weekend.

 

“I will not open the door for Ayrton, if he tries something.” He said. Ron told me. “I’m telling you because I know he will listen if you say this to him. There have been too many times where he pushed me too hard, where I had to get out of the way to prevent there being an accident between us. I’ve let him through enough; I will not do it for him this weekend.”

 

Isn’t that almost a confession? No, I don’t want to get ahead of what happened. I set pole position, 1.7 seconds quicker than he could manage. It made no difference, however; he made a better start than me. Pole is on the wrong side of the grid here; it’s on the dirty side, I remember thinking it last year. I had a bad start then too. But that’s unimportant now.

 

What matters is that I spent the whole race catching up to him, little by little each lap, until I was right in his slipstream on lap 47. I know it was exactly that lap because I count them in my head during the race, I don’t need the radio to tell me.

 

We came through 130R nose to tail, down to the chicane. There was a gap up the inside. I think he left it on purpose to tempt me. It wouldn’t be the first time. Remember Monza last year?

 

He would say he “shut the door” on me. It’s bullshit. He turned in far too early for the corner, just because he saw me alongside. I am so angry just thinking about it.

 

Our wheels locked, we rolled down the escape road together, ridiculously slowly. He got out of his car even though there was nothing wrong with it. He chose to shut the engine down. He jumps out at the feeblest of collisions, he always has.

 

At this point I was not thinking, I’ll admit it. I was confused and angry after the crash. It was just instinct to get the marshals to push me back on. All I knew was that I had to keep going, had to win the race to stay in the championship. I had kept my engine running and carried on. I had to stop for a new nose, and overtake Nannini, which I did at the same chicane _without any incident_ , to win the race. I won it.

 

And then they wouldn’t let me go to the podium. They say Nannini is the winner because I cut the chicane and I am disqualified.

 

It’s a fucking witch-hunt. Balestre just wants Prost to be champion because they are both French.

 

Ron says the result will be appealed. I don’t care. I’m going to win in Australia, there’s no point dwelling on this anymore.

 

I think Alain may have tried to talk to me after the race, before I was brought to the stewards. He said the crash was not on purpose, my move was too optimistic, his usual bullshit. I wasn’t listening. I don’t intend to speak to him again.

All I wanted at the start of the season was for everything to be better between us this year. I tried my hardest. I don’t think I can forgive him for this. It really is the end.

* * *

**November**

**Australian Grand Prix – Adelaide**

**Senna 60, Prost 76 (81)**

It felt like a something out of a bad dream, waiting for the start of the race. It was so surreal. The rain was coming down like nothing I had ever seen before. It was like a monsoon. There was so much activity on the grid, everyone deciding whether to start the race or not. I sat in my car the whole time. Everyone knows I am the best in the wet.

 

It seemed like an endless line of people crouched down to speak to me in the cockpit. First Piquet and Berger were trying to organise a boycott and knelt down either side of my car to try and talk me into it. I said I wouldn’t do it. I honestly think I was the only driver sitting in my car ready to start the race. There is no question of boycotting, I told them. We are here to do a job. Piquet said his job is a racing driver, not a sailor. He’s an idiot sometimes.

 

Then it was Ron crouching down under the umbrella.

 

“Alain said he won’t start.”

 

“Why does that make any difference to me?” I said, coldly. “I don’t care what he does. I have a race to win.”

 

In the end Alain was the only one not to start. After all that talk of striking, all that marching up and down the grid, both Piquet and Berger got in their cars. The rain was still as heavy.

 

I wish Ron hadn’t told me about Alain. It meant I pushed too hard, knowing he wouldn’t score any points. Technically I could still have won the championship if I won today, subject to the Suzuka appeal. So I was going too fast down the straight and it meant I couldn’t see anything through the spray. I didn’t see Brundle at all, not until after we were both crashed out on the side of the track. He was yelling at me but I wasn’t even listening.

 

Maybe all today has been nothing but a nightmare. Maybe all season. I keep thinking I’ll wake up.

 

I got back to the motorhome, absolutely soaked. Alain was there, already changed and ready to leave. It was just the two of us. I thought about leaving, but why should I? This is my team now, not his anymore. The next time I see him he’ll be in Ferrari overalls.

 

“I never wanted it to be like this between us.” He said to me. “We’re the best drivers on the grid, shouldn’t it have been easier?”

 

“Maybe if you hadn’t betrayed me at Suzuka.”

 

“And maybe if you hadn’t betrayed me at Imola. I can play that game too.”

 

There was silence between us. He spoke again.

 

“Can’t we try to leave things on good terms? I don’t want it to end like this for us.”

 

“It’s too late for that. I don’t think you understand how I feel about you.” I meant that I hate him. I think I do. He didn’t take it to mean that.

 

“You’re right; I don’t think I ever did. For that I am sorry, Ayrton.”

 

He didn’t say goodbye.

* * *

" _Actually, I think it's not impossible that in time we might have become friends. We shared an awful lot, after all, and one thing never changed - even when our relationship was at its worst - was our great respect for each other as drivers. I don't think either of us worried too much about anyone else. And there were those times we did have fun together, you know. Not very often, but..._

_"I look back on those days now and think to myself, 'Jesus, what was that all about? Why did we put ourselves through all of that?' Sometimes it seemed like a bad dream. Maybe because usually we were so much in front, it was inevitable that there would be problems between us, but why did it have to get so venomous - why did we have to live like that?_

_"The pressure was so high, so high... If we had to do it all again, I think I'd say to Ayrton, 'listen, we're the best, we can screw all the others!' With a lot of intelligence, it could have been such a good dream. Still, even as it turned out, it was a fantastic story, don't you think? “_  

Alain Prost


End file.
